


Of the Darkest Hour, and Dawn

by fowo



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: (psst Alucard wears a thong don't at me), Alucard basically runs a Bed-and-Breakfast and spa now, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Missing Scene, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, i fixed the ending of s02, impractical clothing, inappropriate sexiness, intent grooming, just a case of 'I wanna write them as much as possible', medieval marveling at monster mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-29 06:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17198234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowo/pseuds/fowo
Summary: Alucard grieves, Sypha is there to help console him, and Trevor is Trevor.





	1. Chapter 1

  _All things must end._

_Good-bye, my friend._

_Think of me when you see the sun or feel the wind._

 

  

What do you do once everything is over?

 Trevor stands there, blinking against the light. Dust particles are dancing in the air, and he tries hard not to inhale, because—they're not dust, are they.

 Alucard is holding on to a bloody stake, ripped off the bed frame in the far end of the room, and only when he lets it clatter to the ground and sinks to his knees does Trevor remember, truly _understand_ , that the man just killed his own father. 

 Sypha is quicker on the uptake and, robes sweeping, is already crossing the room in two grand steps. "Alucard!" she calls, but it's soft, almost muffled against his hair as she falls against him and pulls him into an embrace, cradling his head like one might a child's when it cries. 

 Trevor can't see his face, but he hears Alucard's sigh; a long, deep breath, that gets stuck in his throat at the end, and he allows himself to slump against Sypha's form. 

 Trevor, too, crosses the small room, and the rest of Dracula's ashes stir up in the wisps of his movement and scatter. "Come on, you two," he says, putting one hand on Sypha's shoulder, and then, warily, rubs the other over Alucard's back. "Let's not linger here any longer."

 Together, they get Alucard back to his feet. For someone as lithe as him, he can be surprisingly heavy if he wants to. Or maybe it's just that Dracula's death weighs him down. 

 Either way, Trevor hefts Alucard half over his shoulder, and Sypha rushes to support his other side, and together, they leave the room, and shut the door. 

  

{✝}

 

All of them, instinctively, seek the soft morning sunlight and fresh air outside. Together they stand, linked through Sypha in their middle who holds Trevor by his hand and Alucard by his waist. 

 Nobody speaks for a long time, until Sypha lets out a sigh, a shuddering kind of breath, that sounds a little too close to tears for Trevor to be comfortable with. 

 So he clears his throat, moving a little so Sypha won't be alarmed by breaking contact, and yawns theatrically. 

 "I could really go for like, twelve hours of sleep," he mumbles, stretching until his spine pops several times, making Sypha wince. 

 "The castle has plenty of guest rooms," Alucard says softly. It's the first time he's said anything since they were in that cursed room. "I imagine it would not be your first choice of place to rest, but it has beds, and hearths, and probably beats sleeping outside."

 "That's ironic." Trevor chuckles a bit, unsure of the fragile air between them, and feeling like he's too much of a brute to handle it. "Dracula never struck me as a hospitable kinda guy."

 Alucard shrugs gently. "It's a big castle. Plenty of room. I think my mother—" He stops, turns his head away so his face is shielded by a curtain of hair. He takes a breath. "I think my mother always had this idea to turn at least parts of it into an infirmary."

 Trevor snorts, because—wow, Dracula's castle, a hospital? Wow. He doesn't mean it to be insulting it's just... The fact that humanity's biggest enemy is also Alucard's father, that's hard to wrap his head around sometimes. 

 He feels bad for it, and it's made worse by the fact that Alucard remains stony. Trevor looks to Sypha for help. 

 "We might as well stay a while," she decides, giving Alucard's waist a squeeze. "Clean up the mess here and down below."

 "Don't feel obligated—" Alucard starts, but Sypha shushes him. 

 "Of course we'll help," she says, and looks expectantly at Trevor, who gives her a puzzled look. She elbows him, and he says,

 "Ow. I mean, yeah. Of course."

 "Very well," Alucard says. "I'll show you to your room first though."

 He turns, stepping out of Sypha's grip, and ducks back into the darkness of the castle. Trevor and Sypha share a look, and then quickly follow. 

 They walk back up the stairs that they came from, but then somewhere they take a turn, but there's more stairs, but they look different? And at some point Trevor is sure they actually get turned around and walk back? But Alucard, always a step ahead of them, looks like he has a goal in mind. 

 Trevor thinks he would never be able to navigate the castle without a map, and even then, he's sure the layout wouldn't make any sense. How Alucard can make heads and tails of it, he isn't sure. 

 Half because of this, but also because Alucard is walking ahead of them like he's trying to run away, Trevor catches up to him in two grand strides, and claps a hand on Alucard's shoulder companionably. 

 "Are you trying to tire us out by walking so we'll collapse eventually and you can just sweep us in a corner and claim to be Wallachia's Most Terrible Host 1476?"

 Sypha behind him chuckles a bit, and at least Alucard is looking at him again, instead of walking creepily silent ahead as if he's a wraith. 

 "If there were such a title, you've already won it by dragging a half-vampire down a dusty old hole full of advice on how to best kill him," he simlpy says. 

 Trevor bristles. "C'mon, you know it was the best course of action—" 

 "It was. It was also terribly insensitive of you."

 "You could've stayed outside!"

 "Oh, so you would leave a guest in the dark, where monsters lurk? Belmont, I have no expectations in you and still you manage to disappoint me."

 "Fffuck you," says Trevor, and the way he stretches the _F_ makes clear that he's turning the insult down even as it leaves his mouth. 

 "Eloquent," says Alucard mildly. Then he turns to a doorway, seemingly random in a long hallway of doors that look no different from one another. "We're here."

 He opens the door, and Trevor peeks over his shoulder.

 "Sweet Mother Maria's alleged virginity," Trevor breathes. The bedroom beyond is bigger than most rooms he's ever seen in his life, certainly bigger than anything he's been in since the Belmont mansion was burned down. At the far end, there's a hearth, and the bed is wide and long under a curtain of heavy, purple velvet. "That's not just a bed, that's—that's a landscape. Like I'm pretty sure I'm actually looking at a mountain range right now. I think we might actually need to acquire some gear before we can climb those pillows. Who needs this many pillows?"

 "Oh, it looks wonderfully comfortable!" says Sypha, who pushes past the two men blocking the doorway. She goes as far as doing a little twirl to take it all in; the stained glass windows, the thick carpet to block out the cold stone ground, the dark, beautifully manufactured closets and dressers. "I've never been in a room this fancy!"

 "Then at least all this is good for something," Alucard says gently. "Only the best for you, Sypha."

 She turns to smile at him thankfully, but her expression falls when Trevor darts past her to leap into the bed.

 "Trevor!" Sypha scolds. "You can't just—you'll get the sheets dirty—!" But already he's grabbing the blanket and wrapping himself in it with a roll from one end to the other. Sypha throws up her arms a little. "At least take off your _boots_!"

 But when she storms over to scold him some more, he's already fast asleep, bundled up like a kitten. Her expression softens a bit as she lets her arms fall, and with a sigh she sits down on the edge of the bed, tugs his feet free from the blanket and sets to loosen his spats and unlace his boots.

 "Honestly, I don't understand how he survived as long as he did," she complains, but there's a fondness in her tone. 

 "He _is_ crafty," Alucard allows from where he's still standing in the doorway. 

 She snorts a laugh through her nose. "You're just saying that because he can't hear it."

 He gives a little chuckle at that and it delights Sypha because it's the first time in _days_ that his expression eases, even just a little bit. 

 "I'll leave you to your wifely duties," he says, and Sypha scoffs, but when he raises a hand to excuse himself, Sypha makes a noise to stop him.

 "What are you doing?" she asks, and he turns back to look at her. 

 "I—" he starts, but Sypha is already patting the empty space next to her. 

 "Come," she insists.

 He hesitates where he stands. "I want to be alone," he says softly.

 "But you shouldn't be. So, sit."

 It is hard to argue with Sypha Belnades when she is demanding like that, so he walks over and sits, stiffly, at the other side of the bed. 

 Sypha is done freeing Trevor of his boots, and she throws them to the floor, tucks Trevor back in, and then scoots over the bed to sit next to Alucard. He watches her from under his lashes when she sidles against him, finally resting her head on his shoulder. She's gripping around his bicep like she did before. It's a gentle touch, and Alucard fights not to tremble. 

 "We should see to your wounds before you sleep," Alucard says into the silence, because he is weary of Sypha's wounded shoulder where she carefully does not brush it against his. 

 "It's fine, I cauterized it with my fire—"

 "It still needs looking at. And bandaging. So does Trevor's hand."

 "It wasn't bleeding anymore—"

 "It needs to be cleaned, or it might get infected."

 She looks at him queerly, but seems to decide that he probably does know better than her, so she nods. 

 "What about you?" she asks. 

 He looks straight ahead. "I am not wounded. My flesh heals faster than yours—"

 "Not all wounds are of the flesh, Alucard," she whispers against his side.

 He says nothing to that, but his heart flutters like a bird when she nuzzles her head against his shoulder. 

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Trevor gets forced to take a bath, and Alucard reveals that he can wear time-period appropriate clothing, should the circumstances call for it.

 Getting Trevor out of bed is a bit of a hassle, until Alucard threatens to carry him if he won't comply. That seems to do the trick, and the man finally wraps himself out of his blanket cocoon, and Alucard leads them all to a bath chamber.

  He walks a few steps ahead of him, and there is something so sullen about the way he moves that Trevor finds every second of silence uncomfortable, and does his best to fill it. But Sypha elbows him hard so he's probably doing a piss-poor job at it and gives in.

 As it is, the castle is still and silent like a crypt. It might as well be a grave, Trevor thinks, despite what he told Alucard earlier. And although they saved Wallachia, and maybe the world beyond her borders, he knows neither of them feel any triumph and joy right now.

 Alucard opens a heavy wooden door and lets them in to the bathing chamber beyond. Like everything in this godforsaken castle, it's huge. The windows are of colored glass that casts the evening sun warm over the ceramic tiles that line the floor and walls. There is a big tub, and gadgetry Trevor has never seen. Sypha's gasp tells him she might have.

 "Is this a _therma_?" she asks. "I have heard of these on my travels! I didn't think I would ever see one with my own eyes."

 "Something like that," Alucard allows, walking over. "The Christian church has done well to eradicate all past knowledge humanity had acquired—Roman, Greek, Hebrew and Arabic—"

 Trevor perks up at that—nothing like talking shit on the Church, after all—but Alucard is already walking over to the big copper tub that's sitting at the far end of the room. He leans over, hair spilling over his shoulders like rays of sunshine through the shutters at dawn, and cranks a lever.

 Sypha and Trevor both flinch when water starts pouring out of the faucet, and watch in puzzled bewilderment as it fills the tub. Sypha eventually steps forward, holding her fingers under the stream.

 She gasps. "It's warm!"

 "The tales didn't lie after all, huh," Trevor mutters, a bit too wary to approach, although even he, paranoid as he is, does not expect something overly terrible to happen.

 Alucard's soft laugh surprises them both. "You should see your faces," he says, and his smile reaches his eyes, and they shine, they shine so brightly, and they all laugh a little, stress and exhaustion pouring out of their bodies and breaking whatever spell was over them.

 Then Alucard reaches out, and as if she knew exactly what he wanted, Typha opened the brooch that held her cape together around her shoulders and hands it to him. Alucard folds it gently over his arm and puts it aside.

 Trevor stands, staring dumbstruck, as Sypha reaches behind her neck to open her dress.

 Trevor feels out of his element uncomfortably fast.

 "Uhm, should I," he flounders, "leave?"

 "No," says Sypha, and Trevor watches as she bares her back to him—her front to Alucard—and Trevor turns away because he's a terrible human being, but not _that_ terrible.

 "I don't want any of us to be alone right now," Sypha says. And there's more rustling of clothes behind Trevor, who continues to stare at the wall, even as the steam tickles at his cheeks and neck, weighing on the hairs there, and suddenly he feels hot, uncomfortably hot under his clothes.

 Behind him there's whispering, and Trevor doesn't know if he wants to know what they're whispering about or not, and then the water sloshes softly and Sypha sighs.

 "This feels wonderful," she says, sounding dreamy.

 "Pretty bold of you, to go first," Trevor gripes, because of course he does. "Shouldn't the men do that?"

 "Oh please," Alucard says in that low, sonorous rumble that he puts on when he thinks Trevor is being _exceptionally_ stupid. "The water is heated up by the engines in the cellars. I'll draw a new one when she's done. We don't have to share."

 "Oh," says Trevor, _feeling_ stupid. "Well then. That just seems like a waste."

 "Trevor," scolds Sypha, but her voice carries less scrutiny than usual. "Stop being so negative. This is nice."

 "There should be soap, Trevor, in the cabinet to your left, if you please," says Alucard, and Trevor wants to turn around and see what he's doing that he can't get it himself. Instead, he looks at the cabinet, opens a drawer and indeed finds several bars of soap, beautifully packaged in parchment and bound with a ribbon. He picks the first one, bringing it up to his nose. It smells sweet, of fruit, but herbs as well, and the underlying trace of animal fats.

 "So vampires bathe like every other person, huh? Who'd have thought."

 "Of course. Even so, my mother was human. She manufactured these soaps herself."

 "I thought she was a doctor?" asks Sypha.

 "Yes," says Alucard, "and thus knew that _cleanliness_ —" and Trevor can feel the sharpness directed at him like a jab in his ribs, "—is indispensable to health."

 "So is a protective layer of dirt," Trevor tells the wall.

 "Just hand me the soap, Belmont!"

 Trevor grimaces, but turns around—he figures, if he doesn't _look_ , he can't _see_ , right? So he keeps his eyes somewhere above the tub, on the fogging windows, and though his peripheral vision tells him what's going on, at least it's no more than that: Sypha sits, up to her shoulders, in the tub, her usually flaring, bouncy curls stuck wetly to her head. Alucard, sleeves rolled up, sits behind the tub on a stool, one hand in her hair and the other reached out to Trevor.

 Trevor slaps the soap into his open palm with more force than necessary and turns around again, folding his arms defiantly.

 There's another surge of hotness in his face and neck, but also a painful lurch in his stomach.

 What the _fuck_. He's jealous. The problem is: he's not sure of whom.

 Sypha sighs. "You are such a child, Trevor Belmont."

 "At least I'm not trying to cop a feel," Trevor gripes. "Or suck you dry."

 Alucard huffs, ready to snipe back, but Sypha is quicker:

 "Well, would you _like_ to?"

 Trevor turns around before he remembers that he didn't want to do that, and turns back in the same movement. It's giving him whiplash. "You both suck," he groans.

 "I've been told I'm good at it," Sypha chirps.

 "Sypha!" Alucard gasps, with half a chortle.

 "What? It's true." Trevor hears water splash, and she giggles. "As a matter of fact, you're good at it too, aren't you? Don't be modest."

 Trevor doesn't turn around because by now, he's sure his head is beet-red. At least Alucard's silence tells him that he's equally as astounded by just how much depravity fits into that little, beautiful body of the Speaker.

 "Trevor," Sypha says, and her tone is gentler now. "It's sweet that you're being modest for my sake, but really, just come over here. You have a lovely backside but I'd like to see your face."

 "Ugh, _fine_ , Jesus Christ," Trevor groans, with way more animosity in his voice than he feels, and turns around.

 The soap suds have turned the water opaque, which Trevor notices with equal parts relief and disappointment. Alucard has wetted a rag and is carefully dabbing at Sypha's arm. The wound on her face has stopped bleeding a while ago, and she picks at the fresh scab, and he gently slaps her hand away. She still has foam in her hair.

 It's a peaceful and intimate image, and the painful lurch in Trevor's stomach at being able to witness it is not from jealousy this time.

 Still, he sulks more than strictly necessary when he saunters over, grabbing another stool to sit by Sypha's feet, leaning his back against the warm tub. It's not completely awful, to be here like this, with them.

 He half watches as Alucard finishes cleaning her wounds and then rinses her hair. Nobody speaks now, but the silence is comfortable.

 It's... weird, to be done. To have finished what they set out to do. Not to be on their guard, keeping watch in turns around a bonfire. Trevor is sure they feel it too; and he can't begin to understand what Alucard feels on top of that. He's glad Sypha is there, to cushion his own failings.

 He's glad they're both here.

 Suddenly he realizes that he hears voices; Alucard and Sypha are talking softly.

 "—think we can overwhelm him?"

 "You grab his arms."

 "What!" yells Trevor and almost falls backwards, and Sypha and Alucard both laugh.

 "You're next," he says, with a sort of menacing tone, jerking his chin to indicate the tub.

 "Oh, no, thank you, I'm good," says Trevor, holding up his hands defensively.

 "You're not getting into a bed in my castle as long as you're as dirty as you are," Alucard threatens.

 "I mean," giggles Sypha. "You could sleep on the floor, like a dog."

 " _Me_? He is _literally_ a dog!" Trevor groans, throwing up his arms. "He _turned_ into a dog!" He points accusingly at Sypha. "You _saw_ it."

 "Please," Alucard says coolly, but there's indignation to his tone. "It's a _wolf_. Surely even you can make that distinction."

 Trevor scoffs with a smirk. "It was inside. So it's a dog!"

 Alucard looks at him like he's being crazy, but Sypha giggles a bit and his head whips around to stare at her.

 "I kind of have to agree with Trevor," she says sweetly. "Wolves don't belong inside. So you're domesticated. That makes you a dog."

 "You are both insufferable," Alucard groans, but then they all laugh.

 "I think," Sypha says complacently, "we can agree that Alucard is a literal dog. But you—" She extends a slim foot from the water to prod at Trevor's shoulder with. "You still smell like one."

 "Can't we end a conversation on him being the butt of a joke for once?" Trevor sighs. "I was really hopeful for a second there."

 "Hope dies last, but it does die," says Alucard coolly as he raises, and grabs a gigantic towel from a shelf. He holds up the opposing ends, and Sypha steps out of the tub. This time, Trevor watches as Alucard gently cocoons her in the towel, and she positively vanishes in the fabric when he carefully rubs it over her head.

 Alucard leaves her gently, although his hands linger on her longer than strictly necessary, and drains the tub.

 "Undress," he tells Trevor.

 Trevor holds his collar together over his chest.

 "Ooh, bossy," mouths Sypha, from where she's drying off.

 "Undress," Alucard says again. His eyes are very golden. "Or I'll do it for you."

 "Jesus Christ," mutters Trevor. "I am perfectly capable of undressing myself, thank you kindly."

 Alucard arches a slender eyebrow. "Really," he says. "By the state of you I'd have thought you were born into your dirty clothes and have never actually taken them off."

 Sypha snickers into her towel. Trevor shoots her a glance. How come she had no problem undressing in front of other people?—Probably because, as a speaker, she's used to it.

 Trevor groans as the unwanted realization that he's being difficult dawns on him.

 "Fine, fine!" he says and starts to unbuckle his belt. "I'll get into the bloody bath! But—" He lets the belt clatter to the floor, the pouches and waistcloth going with it. He wags a finger at Alucard. "You're gonna find me something to drink!"

 "Trevor!" Sypha says sternly.

 "What!" says Trevor, in the same tone.

 Alucard shushes them both. "I think it's a fair deal," he says, to both their surprises. "Very well. You better be in that tub and scrubbing away by the time I get back."

 "See?" says Trevor triumphantly, gloating like he won something. "He gets it."

 "You're both unbelievable," sighs Sypha, but Alucard soothes her with a gentle hand on her shoulder as he leaves the room.

 Trevor turns his back to her as the door clicks shut, opening the tab again (not without generous skepticism) and continues to undress.

 Or rather, he takes stock of what is left: he's still only in his socks after Sypha took off his boots earlier, and that leaves those, his trousers, his tunic and his underclothes. That... suddenly doesn't seem like a lot. Trevor frowns, and tries to remember the last time he was actually naked, and in front of another person, at that.

 He jumps when he feels Sypha gently touch his arm, and half-turns to face her.

 She gives him a warm smile and his arm a gentle squeeze. "It's okay, Trevor," she says, with that incredibly soft tone that makes him feel very weak in his knees. "You're safe. Nothing's gonna happen. We're here."

 "Oh yeah?" Trevor scoffs, instantly deflecting although like _always_ , she hit the nail right on the head. "That's what worries me."

 "Of course," she says, and then she grabs both his arms to boldly turn him around to face her fully. Trevor has a split second to realize she's not wearing only that towel anymore. She's slipped her underdress back over herself, and the well-worn linen clings to her curves where her skin is still damp, and Trevor _looks_ this time, and that's what gets his guard down, and Sypha pulls at him, and gets on her toes, and then she kisses him.

 It takes him by surprise. Not that he hadn't thought about it himself—often, honestly. Quite often. When she laughed, or when her eyes started drooping but she insisted she wasn't falling asleep. When she brooded over a book, twirling her hair around her finger or outright chewing on it. The way she walked, the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited. The way she fearlessly, determinedly burned down everything that stood in her way.

 Trevor kisses her back. The world is so complicated sometimes, but this comes easy to him. He embraces her, pulls her against him, and she follows like it's the most natural thing in the world.

 "If you're trying to get me out of my clothes, you're doing a good job at it," Trevor mutters against her lips.

 "Good," she says, and gives him a jovial pat to the chest. "You're taking forever, and my patience has worn thin. Alucard wanted you in the tub by the time he got back, and I don't think you want to make him angry."

 "Actually, that's like my number one reason to live," Trevor quips easily, and doesn't object when Sypha grips the hem of his tunic. He lifts his arms so she can pull it off, which she does. And then Trevor gets stuck in his sleeves because neither of them remembered to take off his bracers, and Trevor stands there with his tunic turned inside out over his head and both of them are trying to get the lacing open but they're only making it worse, they both laugh, uncontrollably, until Sypha needs to sit down on one of the stools. Trevor manages to finally free himself.

 "You are," he says, throwing his tunic to the pile of his belts and sash, "the worst seductress I've ever met."

 "You say that as if you've met many," Sypha says, wiping tears from her eyes. "And with a smell like that, you really can't be picky!"

 "I'm getting in the bath!" groans Trevor, busying his fingers with the lacing of his trousers. "Stop being a pain!"

 "I'm not believing anything until I see it," Sypha chirps, but she turns away again to stop the tub from overflowing and closes the tab. Trevor sees his chance, gets rid of the rest of his clothes in record speed, and gets into the water while her back is still turned towards him.

 She notices and scoffs a little, but there's a smile on her face. "Dive under," she says, taking a seat on the stool by the head end of the tub where Alucard sat before.

 "Excuse me?" mutters Trevor.

 "Get your hair wet! I'm gonna wash your head. Dive, or I'll do it," she adds, with a teasing curl of her lips.

 "Alright already, Jesus," says Trevor. "You really like threatening people with violence, for a Speaker."

 "No violence," argues Sypha, and grabs the bar of soap from before. "Only persuasion."

 Trevor knows arguing is a losing battle, so he just shrugs slightly, and submerges his head under the water.

 The world is still and warm beneath the surface. Trevor wouldn't mind for it to stay that way. But he feels Sypha gently run the tips of her fingers over his nape, give the hairs there a soft tug, and Trevor resurfaces.

 Alucard is back, crossing the bathroom with a tray. Besides two silver bell covers, Trevor spies three glasses and a bottle. Trevor wipes hair and water from his eyes, momentarily too excited by the prospect of getting some alcohol to be self-conscious about his nudity.

 "I can't believe you actually got him something to drink," Sypha sighs, from where she's working up a generous lather between her hands.

 "I'm willing to indulge a crying child's needs if it pacifies him," says Alucard, sitting down with his inherent grace on the second stool. He fills a first glass with gorgeous ruby-colored liquid, and hands it to Trevor, who fails to have any grace but makes up for it with excitement. He doesn't even object to Alucard's barb, and just throws back a big gulp.

 However, having expected red wine, he's surprised to find that it tastes sweet, and heavy, and he lowers the glass and wipes his mouth. "Bloody hell," he says, smacking his lips. "What is this?"

 "Mead," says Alucard easily, pouring a second glass for Sypha. "Since Sypha dislikes the taste of ale and wine, I thought this might be a compromise, since she loves sweet things so much."

 "Aww," mutters Sypha, a blush creeping up her cheeks. Alucard hands her the glass, but considering she's working the lather onto Trevor's hair right now, she doesn't have her hands free, so he carefully puts the glass to the floor next to her stool. She smiles at him, while Trevor downs his glass in one big swig and reaches out of the tub for the bottle, splashing water everywhere.

 Alucard puts the bottle out of his reach. "Nobody said you'd get more than one, Belmont," he scolds, and Trevor looks ready to argue, but Sypha tugs at his hairs and he argues with her to be more gentle instead.

 "I bought some food, too," Alucard says, lifting the covers and revealing two silver bowls of hot stew.

 "Oh, that smells delicious!" Sypha sighs. She's washing her hands in the water. The lather on Trevor's head has turned an amazing shade of brown as finally, all the dirt and muck gets washed away. She gestures for him to duck and rinse.

 Trevor, placated by the warmth of heavy mead in his belly, does so without complaining, but when he resurfaces and wipes his face, he can't help but snipe, "Are we sure that that's not, I dunno, human meat in there?"

 Alucard glowers. "We're vampires, not cannibals, Belmont. One would think you would be able to make that distinction." Trevor just grimaces good-naturedly at him.

 "It is my understanding that the castle hosted humans until recently," Alucard continues. "So there's some food. And I know you haven't eaten since yesterday at least, so, please. Dig in. It would be a shame to let it go to waste."

 Sypha dries her hands on her clothes and accepts the bowl and spoon Alucard gives her. She brings a first bite to her lips, blows on it carefully. "What about you?" she asks, because it's very obvious that there's only two bowls.

 Alucard smiles a little and fills his own glass with mead and takes a sip. "I'm fine," he says. His tone forbids further asking. Trevor and Sypha share a look but neither of them wants to break the easy atmosphere with torturesome questions of Alucard's diet, so they let it rest.

 Sypha chews her first mouthful and closes her eyes and lets out a groan. "Oh," she says. "This is wonderful. I had forgotten what proper food tastes like."

 Alucard smiles at her and then holds out the second bowl to Trevor. "Eat," he says. "When I know that you have some warm food in your belly I'll let you have another glass of mead."

 "That's just straight-up blackmail."

 "Of course. Is it working?"

 "Just give me the goddamn bowl."

 Trevor doesn't think he's ever eaten warm food in a bathtub before. Let alone in company. It's... one of many new firsts for him, since he met these two. Sypha is gorging herself happily, and just watching her makes Trevor feel good. Her hair is drying messily on her head now, and there's a healthy, rosy color in her cheeks. Trevor notices, _not_ for the first time, that he would give his life to keep her safe.

 (He also knows she would follow him through all layers of hell and defy Death Himself to drag him back to scold him about being reckless; but, he figures, that's then.)

 In either defiance of etiquette or truly feeling comfortable, Trevor shifts, splashing water everywhere and making Sypha squawk and scoot away with her stool. Trevor leans his back against the narrow end of the tub and swings his legs out over the opposing rim, wet feet hanging in the air. He crosses his ankles comfortably and grins at his nonplussed companions.

 "I should have known that you would find a way to be a pain even when I finally _got_ you into the bathtub," Alucard gripes. Trevor  has hit him with a wave of bathwater, and Alucard stands, scowling down to where his already tight pants now are glued wetly to his skin.

 Sypha eyes him over her bowl, licking at the spoon with unnecessary intent. "You should take these off," she says, with a tone so fucking _professional_ that Trevor is impressed. "You'll catch a cold sitting around in wet clothes. Besides, that's Trevor's bath water, who knows what's in there."

 "Hey!" says Trevor, and tries splashing her, but she shuffles away from him some more and sticks her tongue out at him with a laugh.

 "Both of you will be the death of me," Alucard groans. "Screw immortality, you'll do it."

 "I'm a vampire hunter, I'm just doing my job," Trevor says helpfully.

 "Your job is to eat and get clean, idiot," Alucard says sternly, and then neither Trevor nor Sypha say anything more when his hands fall to his belt buckles to open them. He rolls the leather up against his hand and gives both of them a hard stare. "Don't make this weird," he grumbles. "I'm not sitting around in wet pants."

 "Not weird," says Trevor, as Sypha makes a noise akin to, "Uhhnf."

 They watch as Alucard takes off his boots. He unbuttons his spats, one fancy golden button after the other. He puts them aside gracefully. Then he unlaces his boots. That takes a while, with his boots being knee-high. There's something incredibly endearing about seeing Alucard, Son of Dracula, in socks. They're grey; undyed sheep wool.

 Trevor scrapes around in his bowl of stew for something to do, and at least tries to pretend not to look as Alucard moves to peel his pants off his legs. If either of his spectators thought it would be a sensual thing, however, they were to be disappointed: Alucard's skinny pants probably don't come off without turning inside-out on a good day, but now it looks like it's an actual struggle. Alucard has to peel away centimeter after awkward centimeter, but his face remains impressively stoic the entire time.

 His legs are naked. He's not wearing long underpants like Trevor does, or any sensible human being should. At the same time, his long shirt flaps cover anything that would be of interest to Trevor. Though, he supposes, that's unfair to Alucard—seeing his long, lithe legs, hairless but for a soft layer of fuzz, the hard muscle in his thighs and curved calves, that's honestly already very, incredibly, enticingly interesting.

When Alucard has finally pulled both pant legs down to his ankles, he needs to sit down again to tug his feet free.

 "This is the most human thing I've ever seen you do," Trevor finally says, amazed, as Alucard goes through the trouble of turning his pants right-side out again, and folding them haphazardly over his forearms.

 "Ha ha," he says, like a human might say _woof_ to a dog. Trevor snickers, and turns his attention back to his food.

 "It's cute," Sypha decides. "Nice to see that you take off your pants like anyone else." He shoots her an indignant look, and she laughs softly. "Well, I wouldn't know, of course. I've never worn any."

 "Among the three of us, you're clearly the one wearing the pants," Trevor chuckles. "No actual pants-wearing required."

 "I'm just _that_ good," Sypha says proudly. She turns her head to watch as Alucard turns around to put his clothes aside; and, after taking a gander, grins at Trevor to give him a thumbs-up. Trevor does a so-so motion with his hand, and they both regulate their expressions back to neutral when Alucard turns around again to scowl at them.

 "Are you gonna get out of the tub, or do I have to force you to do everything?" he asks Trevor, as if he isn't standing there in nothing but his shirt flaps and socks.

 Trevor shrugs and takes another bite of food. "It's warm," he says. "It's actually kind of nice."

 Sypha throws up her arms in great drama. "Trevor Belmont admitted taking a bath is nice! Send a letter to the church, let them declare a new holiday!"

 "I think it's more a sign of impending doom," Alucard says without even the faintest facial reaction. "Any second now it's gonna start raining blood, and crops will fail, and all families' firstborns are gonna drop dead."

 "Har-di-fucking-har," grunts Trevor, as Sypha and Alucard laugh. "First you threaten me to get me _into_ the tub, now you make fun of me for _staying_ in, make up your damn mind."

 "First you don't want to get _in_ , now you don't want to get _out_ , 'make up your damn mind,'" Alucard grins, even as Trevor scowls at him.

 "Oh, shush, both of you," Sypha says. She's finished her food now, putting the bowl aside, and stands up to get Trevor a towel. She leans down to him to plant a kiss to his nose and wrap it around his head. "You'll be a raisin if you stay in any longer," she says tenderly. "Get out and I'll rub you dry."

 " _Oh_ ," says Trevor, and Alucard chortles, "Sypha!"

 "What? Did I say something indecent? It's not nice to make suggestions about a lady, you know," Sypha tells Alucard while Trevor maneuvers himself out of the tub.

 Alucard and Sypha bicker over what constitutes as a lady and whether or not Sypha actually is one ("You told _him_ not to call you one just yesterday!" Alucard complains, and Sypha puts her hands on her hips in indignation, saying, "That was then! Also it's different when _you_ say it!") as Trevor wraps himself in his towel and dries himself off. He's not mad he's not getting enveloped by someone like Sypha did, because just watching them on this moment in time is nice.

 (Also Sypha going after Alucard for a change is just delightful, but he keeps that for himself.)

 Only when Trevor moves to his pile of clothes to get dressed do Alucard and Sypha stop teasing.

 "Oh no," says Alucard, who's over at Trevor's side with frankly inhuman speed to yank his clothes away from him. "You'll not put these back on."

 "Buy a guy dinner first," says Trevor, and right as Alucard opens his mouth, realizes that Alucard did technically already wine and dine him. "Oh. You did. Wait. No. I didn't mean—"

 "Relax, Trevor," says Alucard smoothly with a smug grin, and Trevor thinks that if Alucard wants him to _relax_ , he shouldn't start calling him by his given name when they're both more naked than not. "I mean you should put on a nightgown for sleeping like any sensible person." He turns to Sypha. "You can have one as well, of course."

 "That would be nice," sighs Sypha, but then fixes him with a look. "What about you?"

 "He doesn't sleep in a nightgown, Sypha, he sleeps in pants with his shirt off, you know that," Trevor says, glad he can latch on to something to tease Alucard with. Then he fixes him with a stare himself, looking at his half-dressed form. "Or maybe with his shirt on and pants off?"

 Alucard rolls his eyes. "That was an exception. The wound needed to heal, and I didn't want to be completely exposed should I be forcefully be awakened."

 "Like by us?" Trevor grins.

 "Like by you," says Alucard with such exasperation in his voice that it borders on fondness. "That said, of course I wear a nightgown to bed. I _am_ half-human. Do you honestly think I sleep in a coffin? They're terribly claustrophobic."

 "So am I gonna get some clothes or was this really just an excuse to have me run around naked?"

 Alucard makes a show off having his gaze travel up and down Trevor's nearly naked body. He arches an eyebrow and Trevor bristles a bit when he doesn't say anything; no further barb, but no compliments, either. 

 Alucard just turns to saunter over to a cabinet to rummage around in. He digs out an armful of white, pressed linen nightgowns, and holds them up in front of each of them to measure their size. Trevor slips his over his head, wondering when he last wore clothes that were a) not his only set b) freshly washed and c) _pressed_. They even smell nice, of lavender put between the sheets to keep moths away.

 When he gets his head back out the neck line, Alucard has already changed, and Trevor honestly wonders if he was as fast as that just so he wouldn't have to endure Trevor and Sypha watching and commenting again. Sypha is still fighting her way into her own nightgown and couldn't see him do it either. 

 Sypha, tiny as she is, positively drowns in her nightgown and it makes all three of them laugh as she flaps the too-long sleeves like a child in her mother's dress. She rolls up the sleeves to her elbows then, but she still has to lift the hem to walk. 

 "You look adorable," Trevor tells her, and then smirks at Alucard. " _You_ just look like a huge dork."

 Alucard scowls, but levels his expression quickly. "You look quite charming, once you're scrubbed clean and in fresh clothes. Maybe I should give you a shave, as well; I imagine that might enhance the effect."

 Sypha whispers, "noo," and when both men turn to her in surprise, blushes and says, "I don't know, I like the scruff." She gestures vaguely between the two of them. "You two contrast so nicely, you know?"

 Trevor looks at Alucard, at the hint of his smooth, hairless chest under the collar of his shirt, remembers his pale legs, his immaculate, long, slender fingers. Trevor's skin is sun-burnt, and his dark hair grows on his chest, on his arms, on his legs. His hands are rough with callouses from sword pommel and whip handle. Alucard is just a few centimeters taller, and Trevor's built is broader. 

 Alucard looks at him in turn, and Trevor knows he is thinking the same.

 "Hm," says Alucard, and though Trevor is pretty sure what he's thinking, he really wants to know the extend. "Very well then, the scruff may stay."

 "Hey," complains Trevor. "It's _my_ scruff. Do I not get a say?"

 "No," says both of them, simultaneously, and they both laugh, and Trevor tries to be annoyed, but doesn't quite manage. 

 "Come along then," Alucard says with a smile. "I think I promised you, 'like, twelve hours of sleep.'"

 

 

{✝}

 

It cannot be later than noon, really, but none of them is opposed to going to bed. They agree they need, and _deserve_ it. After the fogged-up bathroom, the guestroom Alucard intends for them is cold, and Sypha hurries to get a fire going in the hearth while Alucard goes through some cabinets in search of a bed warmer. 

  Trevor leaves them to being the responsible ones as he beelines straight for the bed again, crawling under the blankets and shivering until everything is nice and warm. 

 After getting a fire started, Sypha hurriedly joins him, sighing in bliss at the warmth he has accumulated, and Trevor shrieks when she brushes the icicles she claims are her toes against him. 

 "You're a magician and control fire! How is this possible?" he asks her, enduring her touch with the manliest of composures. 

 "I also control ice, so that's probably why," Sypha says easily, floofing her pillow repeatedly, enticed with the fluffyness of real downs under the silken cover. 

 Trevor groans, and it warps into another half-muffled yelp when Alucard finally joins them in bed, to Trevor's right. He, too, is cold; not so much like an icicle but more like clothes that were outside to dry and then slipped over bare skin. 

 "But the bed warmer under the covers or I swear to God I'm kicking both of you out!" 

 "Well that doesn't mean anything from someone who's excommunicated, does it," Alucard says, unimpressed, but he puts the bed warmer, filled with stones from the hearth, under the covers to their feet anyway. Sypha scoots down to meet it until she's under the covers up to her forehead. She lets out a long sigh, soft and quiet, and nestles against Trevor's arm. He can feel her relax, and, without thinking, moves to press a kiss to the crown of her head. She doesn't even react, exhaustion already having claimed her. 

 Meanwhile, Alucard has moved to untie the bed curtains, and the heavy velvet falls free with a soft noise around them. The  sunlight gets blocked out, and they're covered in comfortable darkness. 

 Trevor feels sleep tugging at him, too. He feels Alucard settle into the space next to him; close enough to feel him, but not quite enough to touch. 

 "Good night," Trevor manages, eyelids heavy. 

 "It's the middle of the day, Belmont," comes Alucard's voice through the haze. 

 "Fuck you," Trevor thinks he says, and sleeps. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIL: Alucard says, "Hope dies last, but it does die," which I assumed was something commonly known, something ancient from like, Ancient Greece or Rome or whatever, or fucking Shakespeare or whatever. I wanted to check where to quote comes from to maybe add a bit about it, and as it turns out, it's actually German (my first language) and doesn't exist in English (to my knowledge). It's from the 1960. So there you have Alucard knowing something from the future, I guess.
> 
> Guys cockballing it (thanks Deadpool) is usually not a very sexy thing but I think as always, Alucard is the exception to the rule. I imagine he makes for a very great pin-up model, 90's bishonen that he is.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and comments, criticism and culminations are very much welcome! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Of course, comment, criticism and culminations are an every writer's life blood and fuel. ♥
> 
> I wrote this not intending to upload several chapters, but 10k words in I've reached the point where I need some sweet validation, so I decided to post chapters. The good thing is that 80% of the fic and 90% of chapter 2 is already written, so you can expect and update fast(er than you would expect from me in other circumstances).
> 
> Should anyone be here and wait for updates on fics like TEW or DBH: They are not forgotten nor abandoned. I am just very whimsical, and even more slow.
> 
>  
> 
> A special thanks goes of course to derry, for sharing this OT3, and editing. I couldn't have done it without your love and support.


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